


Blood ties

by Doctor959



Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-06-03 08:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor959/pseuds/Doctor959
Summary: After Mia's death news coverage is flooded with images of synths and humans fighting at the Rail yard. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed someone fighting on the synth's side bleeding red blood. Someone who could be very valuable in achieving their objectives.With only Max and Niska still surviving and the Hawkins with their own struggles, will they reach Leo in time before BMO discover the secret in his blood?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post season 3 finale. ** Spoilers**

It has been months since Leo last had a drink. He had a lot to forget.

Max had asked him if he wanted company, but all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. To grieve the loss of the only women who had ever loved him. 

He let the tears sting his eyes. 

By the time the small seedy pub was throwing their patrons out, he was well and truly wasted. It had been only a week since Mia had died, since Mattie had left his life. Although if her were being honest, he would have to admit that it was he who left hers first. He still had nothing to offer, no money to give, no future to provide her and their baby. Maybe that’s not what she needed. Or maybe it was, as Mattie had told him, already too late.

He needed to call her. Tomorrow, he would call her tomorrow. It was time to stop wallowing and to start living again. He thought of Mia and what she would say if she had been there. She would be so ashamed of how he was behaving. He would have to find a job so that he could support the baby, no matter whether Mattie wanted him involved or not. Maybe he would ring that journalist back and do the interview. His face had been all over the news, fighting with the synths, bleeding red blood. The journalist had approached him wanting to know why a human was in the rail yard that night, fighting for the enemy. If only they knew the truth.

It was those thoughts that distracted Leo from his usual vigilance. Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed the van that was driving slowly behind him as he walked down the quiet street to the abandoned shop front he had been sleeping in. 

~oOo~

It was Ben’s second week in his new job. Work had been hard to come by in the last few years thanks to the synths and their efficient labour. The last year had been marginally better after Day Zero. The back log of orders for new orange-eyed synths meant that if you were to wait for a replacement when your green-eyed dolly ran off, you could be waiting up to twenty-two months. With insurance companies refusing to payout for the catastrophe of the green-eyed synths, smaller companies couldn’t afford to change to the orange eyed models. Ben had some luck working at a pizza shop before moving to a shipping company in their warehouse. Unfortunately for Ben, their new orange-eyed synths came in and he found himself yet again unemployed with two kids to feed. 

He wasn’t entirely sure about what the job entailed when he signed up, but work was work and it just so happened that BWO paid quite well for not asking too many questions. Plus he got a uniform that said “Safety Officer”.

So he found himself late one Tuesday night in the back of a van with three other employees dressed in black jumpsuits with strict instructions; get the dolly without damaging the merchandise. He had found the fact that they were using chloroform to incapacitate the synth very unusual, considering that synths didn’t breathe. In the interests of being employed, he didn’t ask questions. Maybe it was an update that had occurred since Day Zero that made them susceptible?

They turned left down a street when the driver called out that the target had been spotted. Ben craned his neck to look through the front windscreen at the synth they were meant to be picking up.

“Is . . .is it drunk?” another man (Tim?Tom?) asked. 

Ben resolved that he needed to get to know his new work mates better, particularly if he was going to be going on these team missions.

The lead officer, a severe man called Atilla, shot him a glare. Tim/Tom’s sat back against the wall of the van, doing his best to mind his own business. Synths couldn’t get drunk. What a silly thing to say.

Atilla dunked the cloth into the narrow neck of the bottle, taking care not to hold it too close to any of the men. Atilla slammed on his helmet. Ben and Tim/Tom did the same without the macho force.

“Remember, no damage. Bosses want this one in pristine condition,” Atilla reminded them over their headsets.

Ben remembered his training. His job as Number Three Man was to hold the synth’s left arm while the Number One Man (Atilla) powered the synth down. The van slowed to a stop. The door was flung open. Ben’s heart pounded in his chest. It was go time.

Atilla jumped out of the side of the van first, taking his position directly behind the synth. With one arm around its neck, he pushed the cloth over its mouth. Ben took the left position, grabbing a hold of the synth’s arm. He adopted the split stance they had learned in training to counteract the synth’s increased strength. This one seemed skinny for a synth, nothing like the training models.

“Whhh . . .whasgoingon?” the synth slurred. This one must have been defective. Maybe that’s why they were taking it back to the warehouse.

“Two, where are you?” Atilla hissed. Ben looked down on the road to find that Tim/Tom had not managed to exit the van as gracefully. He quickly got up and grabbed the other arm.

“Gedoff me . .”

The synth finally must have realised what was going on and started to struggle.

“Hold firm,” Atilla growled, pressing his thick arm harder against the synth’s chest. Ben held onto the arm for dear life but was losing the battle to hold the synth down.

“Shouldn’t he be out?” Tim/Tom asked, clearly struggling with his own assigned arm. The synth pulled free of him, swinging his fist into Ben’s chest. With a grunt he let go of the synth’s other arm.

“Restrain him!” Atilla cried, struggling to hold the cloth over the synth’s face. Ben tried to grab its arm again but the synth was too worked up now. It staggered free, shaking Atilla off. 

Ben’s instincts took over. Specifically, his instincts from his high school days playing rugby. Off two quick steps, he took the synth down in a hard tackle. He fell on top of the synth who skidded across the asphalt road. In an instant, Atilla was stabbing a huge needle into the dazed synth’s arm. Finally he stopped moving.

Moments later they were heading back to the warehouse with the synth trussed up in the back of the van. Ben winced at the grazes that were scraped into the synth’s face and down his left side. Grazes that for some weird reason bled red.


	2. Chapter 2

Mattie had just wanted for all this to be over.

She had felt so calm climbing the stairs to deliver the USB stick to the Lord Dryden. There was an end in sight, a finality to the whole ordeal. He would read the files and realise it was her fault that all those people would be killed. She would be charged with their murder. It would all be over.

She drew some comfort from the fact that her actions would at least ensure that her mother would go free. Her mother who stood up and did the right thing. 

The appointment at the abortion clinic had already been made. There was no room for a baby in her future, especially an unwanted one. A tinge of guilt panged in her gut as she thought of Leo, pleading with her to give him another chance. She had not lied to him, it was too late.

That was until Niska had shown up and blown her world to pieces. 

How could her baby be part synth? Wouldn’t that make it part machine? How could her body possibly be growing bits of metal and gears and computer code?

She had asked Niska that same question back at her hotel room that same night.

“Bones are made from minerals, just the same as metals. DNA are just instructions, just the same as code. One big change in the code - that’s all that’s needed.”

Growing inside her was a half-synth, half-human baby.

From that very night she found out, Mattie had wanted to call Leo. She put it off, reasoning that he would be too distraught from the loss of Mia. Two weeks later and the excuse was wearing thin.

“Have you called him yet?” 

Mattie was back home with her family. There was still no word on whether her mum would be released from prison. Through lack of someone to talk to, Mattie told Toby about the baby. He had handled the news more maturely than she had expected.

“Mattie, you have to give him a chance. He doesn’t even know about the half-synth thing. You said yourself that he was trying to get back together that night.”

“I know, I know - but why hasn’t he called then?”

“Probably the same reason you haven’t called him?”

She flashed him a glare. 

~oOo~

At first, he thought that it was a dream. The scene was familiar, one that he had replayed in his mind over and over. There was a round light shining down on him in a white room while he lay on a bed. It was so familiar but it was almost like there were purposeful mistakes. The light was different, the rim was thicker. The roof was white, but patterned in a grid.

The sounds, they were different too. The beeping was louder and the voices . . .

“It’s waking up.” 

He didn’t recognise the voice.

“Go call Doctor Anderson. It shouldn’t be awake yet.”

A bright light flashed in each of his eyes. A face that was not his father’s loomed over his vision. 

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a memory.

He had to get out of there.

Why couldn’t he move his arms? 

“Calm down,” a firm voice warned. A pink faced man leaned over him, pinning his shoulders to what felt like a hard table. Leo could smell the cigarettes on his breath.

“Where am I?” he yelled. He tried to kick his legs, but something was holding them down too. He couldn’t even lift his head to see what was holding him down.

“We need to get him back under..”

The panic in Leo’s gut was climbing. They had caught him again. After all this time.

“Frances, hit him with the sedative.”

Leo tensed as he felt the cool liquid flood his veins. He felt his muscles slacked almost immediately.

“There you go buddy, that’s better,” soothed another voice, a female. She patted his chest.

“It’s not a puppy,” the male voice taunted, tightening the straps around Leo’s wrist with a hard yank.

“If we’re calm with it, it will stay calm. If we damage it before Dr. Anderson gets her mitts on him, we’re through. I dunno about you but I’d prefer this than lining up again at the unemployment office.”

Leo drifted back to sleep.

~oOo~

“Leo, if you get this, call me. I think we need to talk.”

Mattie left the third message for the day on Leo’s phone. It wasn’t ringing, just going straight to messages. She tried to stave off the guilt of not even knowing where he was living to pay him a visit in person. 

“He might just need some time,” Toby said, sitting at the kitchen table opposite Mattie. He was digging into a bowl of cornflakes sans milk. Mattie leaned her elbows on the table, running her hands through her hair. 

“I think I need to tell Dad.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Anderson strode down the hallway, her sturdy sensible heels clip-clopping against the lino flooring. She juggled the laptop to the crook of her other arm as she stretched her access card on its elastic bungee cord towards the door scanner. After a full two seconds the door unlocked and she pushed it open. Her last workplace had retinal scanning. Working for the government was a very different experience. 

The room was a lot smaller than the last lab she had access to. The body lay strapped to the table, motionless. She noticed the marks on its skin where the straps across his forehead, arms and legs had rubbed. The gown protected his chest from the strap. The synth had obviously been giving the two assistants, who at that point were still unaware of their boss’ arrival, a bit of grief. If he were human, the standard sedatives should have been enough to knock him out. If he were a synth, the sedatives would have been completely ineffective. It seemed that neither option fit the situation.

“Show me what you have.”

The female assistant almost dropped the glass slides she was holding.

“Oh, Dr. Anderson . . . um, well, it’s the blood, you see-”

The assistant whose name Dr. Anderson did not bother learning (she never did) motioned for her to take a look through the microscope. Dr. Anderson stretched on a pair of latex gloves and peered through the lens. 

“As you can see, for the most part it is blood,” the assistant babbled as the other red-hair assistant scowled from the station where he was sterilising the equipment. “There’s plasma, and leukocytes and even red blood cells, but there’s something else. The blue cells, when I saw them under the microscope they look a lot like -”

“Synth fluid.”

“Yes, but not really. It’s . . it’s changed. It doesn’t behave like a bunch of electrolytes and oils. It looks like the components of the synth fluid are starting to adapt to become cells.”

Dr. Anderson watched as the blue blobs moved through the blood samples.

“Can it reproduce the liquid?”

The other assistant put down the metal trays and joined the conversation at the diagnostic station. Dr. Anderson was reminded of an ugly junkyard dog; loyal until someone throws a juicy steak in the other direction. 

“We can test for it. See if the stem cells will create more. It seems to still have mostly human biology.”

“Were you able to measure a BP?”

“It’s high, but not off the charts.”

“Alright. Drain two litres of the blood-fluid.”

The female assistant’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. The junkyard dog had already started to prepare the cannula. 

“Retain the fluid. If it looks like he won’t survive, transfuse it back in. The synth part should make him more resillient. Otherwise, keep it for further testing.”

Dr. Anderson adjusted the machine controlling the drip.

“Doctor, he might wake up with the sedative levels that low.”

“Exactly. It’s time we had a chat.”

~oOo~

Leo woke up chilled to the bone. It felt the wrong way around, inside out. The cold was seeping through his body from within.

“Wakey wakey.” 

Leo groaned, trying to roll away from the sound. His head felt too heavy, even though he was lying down. 

“No, no, none of that.”

A sharp slap stung his cheek. He forced his eyes open.

The same pink faced man was leaning over him. This time he was joined by a woman with sharp eyebrows and maroon lips. 

“There we are. Now, you need to answer a few questions for me.”

Leo blinked to try to clear the blur that hampered his vision. His head was spinning even though he was lying down (was he lying down?).

“What is your name?”

Leo looked down at the crook of his elbow where he could feel a sharp sting. A tube filled with his dark purplely-red blood wound its way from the needle embedded in his arm. 

“What are you doing to me?” he rasped.

“My question first. Your name?”

Leo closed his eyes. He was feeling faint even with the pressure of the flat bench against his back. 

“John.”

“Liar.” 

“I cannot lie-”

Smack.

The man shook out his gloved fist that he had just used to hit Leo’s jaw. He felt along his lip with his tongue, tasting the salty-coppery blood.

“Let’s try again,” said the female voice, less patient. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Leo retorted, noticing the shake in his voice. He glanced down at the blood pumping out of his body.

“You are the closest thing that I have seen, that anyone has ever seen to a hybrid human-synth.”

“And you think I would do that to myself?” Leo scoffed. 

“Then who did?” The woman cocked her head, eyebrows raised.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Who are you?” 

“Answer the question.” 

Pain sparked through his veins. It was too much.

“Get that thing out of my arm,” Leo gasped.

“Not until . . .”

Black spots crept across the blurred faces leaving over him. The machine beeped rapidly contrasting against Leo’s slowing breath.

“Dial it back,” a woman called out across him.

It felt like he had been dropped in an icy lake. His skin burned cold.

“Shit! He’s going under.”

He sank below the water.

~oOo~

Ben knew that there would be parts of his new job that he wouldn’t enjoy. Clobbering an unsuspecting conscious synth over the head and taking him into a facility whose operations were still a mystery to him was one of those parts. He would find out there were a whole lot of other parts of his job that were less than enjoyable.

“Why is he that colour? He looks like a blooming corpse”

There had been jobs available at the employment office at the cemetery, digging graves. The thought of grinding a shovel mere feet away from dead bodies had creeped Ben out too much.

“It’s a dolly,” Tim said apathetically, unlocking the wheels on the trolley. Ben had decided to just call him Tim. He still didn’t know for sure what his workmate was called. 

“He wasn’t that colour when we brought him in.” 

Ben was pushing the trolley from the other side. On the table, held down by thick black straps was the synth they had brought in the night before. The lab tech walked out from behind the curtain dividing the work area from the holding area that Ben was currently in, peeling off his gloves

“That’s because we’ve taken 2 litres out of him.” 

Ben had only met Keith once before, but once had been enough. He was a big orange-haired man with small eyes and a thick neck. He had walked in on Keith feeling up a powered down synth that he was meant to be running tests on. When he realised that Ben was in the room, all Keith did was smirk and offer him a turn. 

Ben looked down at the almost translucent skin poking out from under the hospital gown. His lips were colourless. The synth fluid must have acted a bit like blood, Ben thought to himself. Less blood, less colour.

“You’re forgetting, it’s a synth. He might look like you and me, but he isn’t human. Well, not anymore.”

Ben wanted to ask what Keith meant, but his desire to get away from the creep won out. He unlocked the wheels on his side of the trolley and wheeled it back with Tim to the small room down the end of the corridor where they had been taking the synth each night.

“He does look a bit more human that the other dollies,” Tim commented, pinching the synth’s bruised cheek. Even though he didn’t move or react, it wasn’t like the artificial stillness of the other synths. It was almost like he was . . . breathing.

Ben locked down the wheels. The room was just big enough to turn the trolley bench around. There were no windows except for the A4 sized double-glazed glass in the door. 

“Goodnight dollie,” Tim called. He locked the door behind them, turning out the light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading this. I will be finishing this, just deciding on which way it will go. Feel free to comment.

Joe Hawkins had taken the news . . . well enough. The conversation had started awkwardly as it had always been destined to. 

“Dad, I need to talk to you about something.”

Joe had just finished packing the groceries into the fridge. Mattie had gone the whole way to and from the shops with him and still not been able to bring it up. She thought the conversation would be easier in the car, but then she decided it might be easier in the public space of the supermarket, until she realised that she didn’t want her father to be reacting to the news in public and decided to bring it up on the car ride home. 

Before she managed to start the conversation, they were home. 

Toby was lingering in the kitchen, waiting. He raised his eyebrows at Mattie, eyes darting between her and their father. Mattie shook her head then tilted it sharply in a “get lost” gesture. Toby rolled his eyes and gave her a pointed look. 

Joe went to the bathroom to put the toilet paper away. 

“Didn’t you tell him?” Toby hissed. Mattie scowled at him and moved away from him to get a glass from the cupboard. 

“Shut up. I’ll do it, just give me a second.”

“What are you waiting for?”

What was she waiting for?

When she told her mother she had just ripped off the band-aid. The anguish of risking her mother’s disappointment had been coupled with the instant relief of a weight lifting from her shoulders. 

Just like a band-aid. . . 

Joe came back into the kitchen and poured himself a coffee from the perculator on the stove.

“Dad, I need to tell you something.”

He had waited until Mattie finished, then got up to tip his coffee in the sink, took his coat from the stand and went for a walk. 

Now, hours later, he was ready to talk. 

Talk to Leo, that was. 

“Have you gotten onto him yet?”

“No, he hasn’t called me back.”

Mattie exchanged a glance with her brother. Toby returned the looked laced with the same sentiment: Leo was in trouble.

“How long since you last heard from him?” Joe asked. He drained the pasta in the colander balanced in the sink.

“Not since the march.”

Joe dropped the colander into the sink with a clang.

“Three weeks? Mattie, are you sure he wants to be involved? He’s not exactly, you know . . .”

Mattie bristled.

“No dad, I don’t know. Please explain.”

Joe clenched his jaw, leaning on the bench. 

“You know what I mean. He’s here, then he’s not, then he’s living in a junk yard. He’s not exactly the reliable, responsible type.”

Mattie scoffed.

“What about Max? Mia? What about the way he took care of them? Have you forgotten?”

“It’s not the same Mattie. Being a dad is hard work!” Joe threw the tea towel onto the bench. 

“Father of the year talking here,” Mattie muttered back. She regretted it as soon as the words dropped out of her mouth.

Joe ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ve made mistakes but I’ve done my best. I’ve tried. Whatever you think of me, I’ve always had your best interests at heart.” He moved around the bench to stand in front of Mattie beside the kitchen table.

“Have you thought about . . . other options?”

“You think I should get an abortion?”

Mattie was furious at the tears that stung her eyes. 

“No, yes, I mean . . .” Joe let out a long huff. “With what’s been happening and your mother not around and no support from him . . .”

“You don’t know that. Leo cares about me.”

“If he’s so keen, where is he? If he cares about you why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he manning up and taking responsibility and leaving it all to you?”

“I don’t . . I don’t know!”

The unwelcome tears scraped away her voice. She sobbed into her hands, turning away towards the lounge room.

Warm arms wrapped around her. She buried her face into her dad’s jumper, the safe familiar smell of his cologne reminding Mattie of the reassuring hugs of her childhood. Long ago before she found out that he wasn’t flawless. Before he betrayed their trust. Before she became a murder.

Her resolve crumbled as she wailed into his chest. 

After a long while Mattie pulled back, wiping her nose. Toby stood awkwardly in the kitchen, looking intently at the fruit bowl.

“I don’t know where he . . .he is, or even if he still wants this . . .”

Fresh sobs shuddered free from her chest. 

“I . . I don’t know what to do. I want Mum back!”

Her father sighed, stroking her wavy hair. 

“I know honey. I know.” He paused. “Does she know?”

Mattie nodded. 

She had not seen Laura since the day that police stormed into the house to arrest her. Her father had been allowed to visit once, thanks to Laura’s work colleague Neha, but despite Mattie’s begging she was left behind. Her father had said that she looked well enough, but Mattie needed more. She needed to see her. 

Some of her mother’s work contacts had pulled a few strings to get one of the country’s best law teams onto the case. Joe had said that the high profile case had drawn them in. Lawyers and their careers, he had said harshly. 

“Look, I know I’m not very good with . . . any of this, but no matter what, I’m here for you.” Joe held his daughter’s head in his hands as he looked into her teary eyes. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Mattie wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Thanks Dad.”

“Group hug!” Sophie cried, bounding into the room. Toby let a wry smile creep in before he joined them.

~oOo~

“Thank you all for meeting today at such short notice. I think you’ll soon agree that our latest findings in the BWO Lab are worth the trip.”

Kelly Anderson looked out across the shiny oval oak table at the men in suits gathered around it. Lord Dryden’s chair had been ominously empty before some shallow-faced bootlicker claimed it as their own. It didn’t matter - the man she needed to convince was sitting opposite her at the other end.

Gordon Nott could have been a politician. He had his fingers in enough pies to sway any bill his way, should he so please. No-one knew where his money came from, and no-one asked as long as there was a chance they could get their hands on some of it. A staunch right-winger, a committed Anglican, on the board of organisations from banking commissions to cancer charities. 

The cause closest to his heart, however, was the synth cause.

The how-to-rid-society-of-synths cause.

“I have acquired a rather unusual specimen. Over the past few months, I have been researching the conscious synth problem by conducting a range of experiments to determine a method of solving the problem. While all previous research has been focused on finding weaknesses to exploit with a virus, my new research has taken my thinking in a very different direction. 

“This new acquisition was targeted and captured after examining news footage of the uprising.”

Dr. Anderson threw a pile of files to the bootlicker.

“Hand those out, would you?”

His bird-like features formed a seething scowl. He took the stack of files in his long fingers and took one from the top, passing the rest around. Dr. Anderson waited until each of the board members had a file and were given a chance to leaf through the coloured photos.

“What do you notice about this synth?”

The men all stared at the image, taken from the news footage. 

“What are we looking at here, Kelly?” Dr. Colson asked impatiently. He headed the relations between the government and what had now become a break-away agency.

“This photo was taken from the news coverage of the synth uprising at the railway yard.” 

Dr. Anderson walked to the back of the room and stood behind Mr. Nott. 

“His blood. What do you notice?”

There was a long silence.

“It’s red,” a curled over man who looked like he should have been in a nursing home provided. “Or, reddish.”

“Exactly. That is because he is not a synth, or not wholly.”

“What are you on about?” Dr. Colson demanded.

“What you’re looking at is a man who in the most part is human. However, his blood is not. Tests have shown that his blood is made up of around 37% synthetic components. His DNA is incongruent with any human variations ever documented.”

“You have this synth?” Dr. Colson asked. Dr. Anderson nodded.

A murmur of hushed voices skittered around the room. Dr. Anderson held back a smirk. For months these men had entertained her weekly lab reports with groaning yawns and pen clicking. Now they would take her seriously. This was big. This was new. She threw another pile of images at the bootlicker and gestured for him to pass them around. His black bushy brows pinched further together.

“Furthermore, body scans have shown hardware installed inside his body. Synthetic hardware.”

Dr. Colson’s eyebrows would have risen past his hairline had he any hair.

“What do you mean?” 

“Someone has surgically added synthetic components to this specimen.”

“What for? What’s the purpose?” Dr. Colson added, trying to keep the interest from his question. 

“Well, I have not yet determined this, it seems that the hardware sustained damage here,” she pointed to the base of the figure’s neck. “But given the placement of the wires and the initial diagnostic scans, it seems that it might be some sort of supplement to his brain. Possibly a working memory or even something designed to supplement brain function. It seems that there has been some past trauma to the brain tissue.”

“So you’re saying that this man has been turned into a synthetic?” Dr. Colson asked.

“Precisely.” Dr. Anderson sat back in her chair at the head of the table, folding her hand in a triangle.

“Why?”

“That I do not know. However, I have a team working on repairing the synthetic components to see what we can glean from the memory.”

“Forgive me, but what is it that you are hoping to achieve with your research?”

Dr. Anderson sat forward, looking directly at Gordon Nott.

“At the moment, the synths have the edge on us. They are faster, better, stronger. But they lack the creativity, the independence, the humanity. This specimen has both.”

“What, you would see us become them?” The shrivelled man’s eyes bulged from his wrinkled head.

“Not become them. Become better than them.”

Mr. Nott cleared his throat.

“Dr. Anderson, I’ll have to stop you there. While your research is indeed, remarkable, it strays too far from our objectives. Our aim is to eradicate the synth problem, to return to the days before our society made its most disastrous mistake. What you are speaking of treads dangerous ground -”

“But think of the potential! We can treat brain injuries . . . ”

“. . . delving into the unknown . . .”

“ . . . a huge leap forward . . “

“Dr. Anderson. This research will end, and the synth is to be disposed of before it falls into the wrong hands.”

Dr. Anderson’s face flushed. 

“But . . but . . .Mr. Nott - you can’t! This research will be ground breaking! It could be the biggest breakthrough since Dr. Elster first created synths. It could be the key to curing cancer, or spinal injuries or even mortality!”

Gordon Nott stood up. His face was flushed. 

“Dr. Anderson, that’s enough. The research will cease.” 

Kelly Anderson stood abruptly, knocking her folder off the table. She took one sweeping glare at the pompous men surrounding the table. Men who moments ago had been as excited as she had and now cowered like dogs. All to please a man who lined their pockets.

She grabbed her jacket and swept out of the room.

After everything she had sacrificed, to finally be rewarded, only for this pink-cheeked bastard to take it away with one word.

Her research would make her famous. It would change the world. 

They would see.

~oOo~

Surely grave digging wouldn’t be that bad. 

Ben resolved to have another look at the job website when he got home that night. 

He was wheeling the same dollie back to the same small room. The dollie that looked more like a man than a synth. 

A thick bandage was wound around his stomach. Blood stained through in a large patch taking up most of his side. It was still smeared on the rail of the trolley. More reddish-purple liquid soaked into the pillow under his head, turned to the side to reveal where a large section of his hair had been shaved away and left with a messily stitched wound.

“Fucking hell, whatdya reckon they’re trying to do?” Tim asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Not your business,” Atilla reprimanded. He opened the door that sectioned the corridor. 

Ben looked down at the man’s face. A breathing tube had been stuffed in the side of his mouth, tugging it open. A breathing tube. On a dollie. 

“Old Doctor Crone seemed pretty happy though. Happier than yesterday anyways.”

Ben had also noticed the gleeful grin on Dr. Anderson’s face as the Ginger Menace wiped the pools of blood from the operating table. Whatever they had been trying to do, it worked.

~oOo~  
“Why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know, the system test shows that the CPU is responding.”

The pain hit Leo all at once so hard he felt that his head was about to split open. A burning stab in the back of his head, like a screwdriver pushing into his skull. He screamed, arching off the trolley.

“Hold him down!”

“Hang on, we have something!” 

Pain rippled through his body, surging into his left side just below his ribs.

Something was wrong.

Hester’s green eyes, knowing that he was lying.

She’s dead Leo, Niska killed her.

Max’s kind eyes, trusting him more than anyone in the world. 

Oh Maxie, I hope you are safe.

His memories were vivid. Just like his synthetic memories.

What had they done? 

“Doctor, should I get the sedative?” a scared female voice asked.

“No, it’s working. It’s working!’

Leo howled as the pain peaked, cleaving through his skull. His eyes rolled back as he lost control of his muscles. His body rattle against the metal of the trolley.. 

Mattie’s patient eyes, waiting for him to see her.

I wish I had never let you down.

~oOo~

The software engineer had brought in another geek with more hair on his face than on his head who was apparently an expert in synth hardware. The new guy had looked a bit squeamish when the red-head assistant had cut Leo’s head open. One of Dr. Anderson’s signature glares got him back to work.

After three hour’s work they set their tools down, declaring that their work was done.

“Most of the damage was to the RAM, but we’ve fixed it. It’s a lot stronger than what he had in there, but it was too hard to get RAM that old at short notice. Looks like the old storage hardware had been in his head for at least ten years.”

Dr. Anderson had gestured towards the wires hanging out of the newly cut hole in the not-synth’s side, right next to an old scar.

“Will these be able to power it?”

“Should be able to. We’ve attached a USB cable as well to make it easier to hook him up to a computer.”

She watched as the man sucked each breath from the breathing tube. Without his gown on, she noticed what she hadn’t before - the asymmetry of his shoulders, the smattering of hair on his chest, the human-ness of his body. 

She needed answers.

It was time to get answers, with or without Leo’s cooperation.

“Alright, we are ready to go.”

The two engineers were sitting at an array of laptops, connected to a large monitor at a station a few meters away from the operating area. Dr. Anderson’s assistants were loitering next to the trolley. The girl with the no-nonsense pony tail was checking the not-synth’s nasal oxygen tubes. He was already showing some signs of recovery from the surgery that morning. The skin that the red-haired man had cut through at the back of the speciment’s skull was pink and stretched the way a human’s would be after weeks post-surgery. The prospect that the mixed synth-human blood could lead to the greatest medical advancement since antibiotics was making Dr. Anderson giddy with excitement. Her patience would not hold out.

“Why isn’t it working?”

“I dunno, the system test shows that the CPU is responding. He might need more power. The battery was old but we couldn’t upgrade it.”

“Get it working,” Dr. Anderson warned, pushing the words through her teeth.

Dr. Anderson was convinced that this blood was the breakthrough that would make her career, but she couldn’t afford to spend years reverse engineering the blood samples to work out how synth blood had mixed with human blood. She needed a shortcut.

“Doctor, he’s waking up.” The pony-tailed girl still wore the sickened expression from the night before. Dr. Anderson made a mental note to replace her as soon as she could. 

A pained scream interrupted her thoughts. The man was writhing on the trolley, clearly feeling the work done to him the day before. He struggled against the bands. The bandage around his head was coming loose. 

The meathead assistant slammed him back into the trolley with more force than was necessary.

“Hang on, we have something.”

The screen flickered then stayed on an image.

A girl with straight brown hair and green eyes full of hate. Synth eyes. The image changed to abruptly to a blonde woman standing protectively above him, her hair dangling towards where a camera would have been. Where the first image was as sharp as a video, the second image was softened, more of an impression than a clear image. There was no background, no context. Just a face.

“Should I get the sedative?” the girl asked. She hovered between the drug cabinet and the drip machine, her wide eyes watching the red-head become increasingly rough with the writhing man.

“No, it’s working! It’s working!” The software engineers tapped away at their laptops.

Another image of a dark man with startling green eyes. At first sharp, then again a more abstract image. This man was important. Loved.

“What is happening? Why are the images like this?”

The engineers tapped away. The bald one froze.

“The synth brain is downloading data. New data.”

“What, it’s recording? What’s it recording from?”

“So, at some point this unit, the brain unit thing, it stopped working, yeah? The clear memories seem to be recordings, files, already existing on the hard drive. Now, though, it looks like it’s writing new images.”

“New images? Where are they coming from?”

“His brain.”

~oOo~

_I feel so . . . connected._


End file.
